In The Eyes of the Devil
by Ryuujin Yuushi
Summary: The tormented and horrific past of Vicious, Spike and the Syndicate. (Chapter 5 is up! Spike and Vicious meet up, and Vicious gets intoxicated as he engages foes in a bloody fight.)
1. Prodigal Son

See You Space Cowboy..  
  
I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. I also do NOT intend to make money doing this! Thanks. ^_^ I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. Thanks. ^_^ Note: * denotes thoughts of Vicious, and ~ denotes voices in his head.  
  
Chapter I: Prodigal Son  
  
And so there he sat. As always, he had noticed; this fetal position had oft crept out of the darkness. But this time, he had not escaped. Gray marbles rolled idly in their sockets as the din of raven jeers became present. The only ray of light emitted from the bay window that revealed cold, sheer darkness and the desolation of Callisto. He remembered well his ordeal there, and memories flared and flicked past so vividly..  
  
The memory was dark as well as lonely. A haunting tune bellowed forth from the record; it came to an abrupt stop as two seemingly lifeless, pale fingers slid themselves along the smooth, black covering, and a scarlet liquid dawdled and shimmered atop it. The fingers playfully spun the record about, forming the liquid into a foul embracement. Upon the seldom emotional face was painted an insidious grin as the gray marbles shivered in madness. At this point, there was no present reason why the tall, loathsome figure removed his bloody fingers from the record. It began to play again, and sounded close to a hymn of devilry; at this, he chuckled.  
  
All sound ceased. His pupils shrank as he turned his head a mere inch. In the gloaming behind him, flaming pupils resided. His awareness surged, and he flipped 'round with a speedy gyration, crashing down into the record player. The aged blood dripped onto his nose as he looked upon his supposed assailant in horror. He had not known fear thus far; naught had come before him and his acts of impurity. With a shriek, the flames vanished and appeared before him.  
  
He cried out as the stench of carrion wavered in the air. With a liquid movement he brought his thin fingers forth in attempt to grab the beast, but it dodged with the ease of a bird and darted to the top of a chandelier that was presently covered in blood. And there he panted, questioning his movements; cursing under his breath. While shivering, he stood, and the record player crashed down once more. The flaming orbs vanished permanently, and from the deep shadows feel a shard of steel.  
  
After what seemed like an age of falling, the blade sliced itself deep into the fine wood of the oak table. Slow steps eventually brought him before it, and he gripped the gashed hilt of it without thought. He recognized the blade; dried blood still stained it. He had killed with it.   
  
A will rekindled bursted from inside him, and with a great honor for the blade, he fell to his knees. Upon the floor droplets of crimson fell from his face, and with a touch of madness, he laughed. And continued to do so as the night passed on..  
  
He awoke. His mind set was in the present once more. He thanked this all to the clutter and slam of a rickety door that bore many deep imprints and gashes.  
  
"Deimos," A deep voice called from behind a wire-frame clipboard. The deep voice laughed silently as a flame flicked in the darkness. Smoke then followed. It traversed the low-gravity and settled about the boy's face. The boy sat. He payed no heed to it.  
  
"Boys down in the Trianko were callin' you Vicious. Feh, you like jus' like a boy ta' me." With a frustrated grunt the broad shouldered man sat his bulbous behind atop a rusted chair. It shuddered under his weight, and he thereafter leaned over the table.  
  
The gray marbles had become orbs, and they focused upon the man lifelessly. Pale and emotionless was his visage, and his ever-thin fingers gripped tightly the arms of the crude chair. The darkness passed as a dim light splashed over the room. Another hulking figure had entered, and he bore with him a katana. He pressed it to his pillow-like breast, and it became knowledge to Vicious that the pair of them were clad in dark suits that had the deep, red face of an enormous lizard on their cufflinks; a dragon. The same image was crudely painted upon the floor, and it had clearly faded over the decades.  
  
"Yer clamped into that seat 'cause we know what ye' can do. Don'tcha even try to get up." The huge form tossed the blade with a yawn to the table, and it floated there steadily. Vicious' eyes lit up, and a nervous sound of desperation came from him as many red, flaming eyes brought themselves about in the dismal corner behind the lot of them.  
  
"Release me. I warn you now. Release me to avoid a gruesome fate," his voice was even more treacherous than could be fathomed. The eyes had finally found an object to embrace themselves to; the katana. He fidgeted oddly in his creaking seat as the jeers once again echoed in the room. Horror flushed over the obese men. The one who was presently seated rose abruptly, and his foot steps made deep, drum-like noises upon the hollow floor. His back slammed into the wall as a raven set itself into him, and tore about in his fresh innards, bringing the carrion scent back.  
  
"Y..you fuck head! You FUCKED YOURSELF!" Thereafter there was a call of torment as feathers floated silently in the air. Ravens flocked eagerly about the corpse of the figure, and blood was strewn about the room. Vital organs were present, and sickly noises were heard only, now. The flaming eyes were lit anew with greedy hunger and self satisfaction. The other man, after seeing the fate of his comrade, smiled wryly and slammed himself through the old door. Down it toppled, and the echo sent itself spiraling throughout Vicious' blood-filled mind. And this whole time, he merely watched as the man was gorged. He smiled.  
  
"When angels fall, they become servants of but one lord." And the ravens sat upon the chair like a throne, pecking each other of blood and other various morsels. Vicious glowered like a dark lord; though restrained, he was a satanic figure, and the ravens glowed as they always did. 


	2. Cry For A Shadow

See You Space Cowboy..  
  
I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. I also do NOT intend to make money doing this! Thanks. ^_^ I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. Thanks. ^_^ Note: * denotes thoughts of Vicious, and ~ denotes voices in his head.  
  
Chapter II: Cry For A Shadow  
  
~Isn't this position so familiar, you little bastard?~ The lights had flickered off, and he sat there in his own isolation. Ivory lips plastered against the cold harshness of his face had twisted again as well. Fragments of rusted metal seemed to take orbit about him, and as he rose, his billowing robes flowed behind him. His hoary eyes caught a last glimpse of the gloom-ridden Callisto. The ravens stirred silently as his body made a complete rotation to face the brown chunk of rock.  
  
~See this sword? Isn't it amazing, Deimos? Funny, though; I just HAD to kill her..~ With a violent swing of his fist, he caught his own face and writhed in the blanket of pain he had lain over himself. Scattered about, the ravens leapt away to leave him and his pain for a time. He was now on his knees, restraining the river of bloody tears that ever so wished to escape their ducts.  
  
~I..I don't see anything.. Just look closer, dear.. W..what is this!?~ With a great and agile leap, he sent himself into the already faulty table. With a deafening clang, he broke through it, and the katana lay upon his legs. His head shook feebly and despondently as he struggled to make clear view of his surroundings. So clear were the memories.. So hauntingly clear that they impaled his mind; and with one trembling hand, he unsheathed the blade. It was his bane. The cold frost of winter swept over him from his neck to the rest of his body, as if a net was over him. It glowed dully as he pressed it closer and closer to his jugular.  
  
This false reality shattered as the ear-splitting commotion of rifles being fired crept closer. Blade at his side, he took off. The first few strides were similar to ostrich steps; he brought himself to the unlit halls outside of the room after his adrenaline pulsed. Like a feudal ninja he took off aimlessly down the hall, still being pelted by thoughts that endlessly tried to bring his life to an utter end. The gun shots were present again, and he dove forth to avoid being mutilated by the spew of shot gun shells. In front of him, a man clad in the same suit from before toppled back into the wall, gurgling and sputtering. From behind he heard calls; he heard indeed, but saw only darkness. He wheeled around quickly on his heel to make a sharp left; the halls became tightly narrow, and because of the dim lightings, he saw more curious dragons painted upon the wall. They coiled into many fine shapes that intrigued him; but again, his floating mind was sent tumbling back into reality.  
  
A swift and forceful elbow embedded itself into the abdomen of Vicious, who came to his knees in exasperation. Through the flutter of anger, he could find no energy, or air, for that matter. Blood trickled from his parched lips as he stared up to his foe. This one seemed to be much more burly than the rest of them all; his deep, jet black sun glasses glinted before him as his tanned face smirked.  
  
Vicious' thick blood seeped through the grated floor upon which he was now sitting, waiting for the finishing blow to be dealt.   
  
~You've always been such a cowardly fuck, you know that, Deimos?~ The thoughts had to end. He had to force them into the abyss; the very fires of hell. The oblivious assailants' face faulted as the ring of an aged katana entered the close air; it was drowned out by the low howl of Vicious' voice. Hilt in both long, thin hands, Vicious sprung off of the ground. Mere seconds after his foot left the blood-stained grating, the katana met the breast of the muscular being. Though not a clean cut, blood sprayed out such as water would from a penetrated hose. As the crony screamed a blood curdling cry, he lunged forward along Vicious' path. Another slice sent the man down to his demise. With the deep blare of his body weight denting the grating, he was lain to rest.  
  
These heinous acts were all very natural to Vicious, who seemed to glide down the shadowed path. Behind, in the gloaming, the red eyes flared up to their full potential, and the ravens flew at top speed, jeering and braying as they went. Blood rained from their bodies and shimmered down to the floor. And as Vicious came to a stair case, he skillfully sent himself flying into the air. Just as this took place, the ravens landed atop his shoulders.   
  
The room was now wide and in a circular shape, but that was all that was noticeable. With the tmp of his feet meeting the sturdy floor, he rose up to his complete height. An ominous feeling was all around. Ahead, though, a flick of fire, though small, bursted up out of the twilight. The sound of a stressed male's voice echoed after the flame, and briefly, Vicious smelled smoke. There were more footsteps until a searing pain pulsed in Vicious' neck. He felt himself leap back immediately, and the blade was drawn. He heard but a chuckle..  
  
"You must be the guy I've heard so much about. Pleasure to meet you, Vicious," the figure uttered as he blew out a cloud of smoke. Vicious walked forth a step, still holding the blade abroad.  
  
"I will take no greeting from one who feels the need to burn my flesh. Explain your reasoning for harming me."  
  
"Jeez, lighten up. It was an acci-"  
  
The sentence was interrupted as Vicious commenced a bout with the figure. A great leap forth brought him close to the man's chest, and Vicious rolled off to the side as he felt a fist brush by his cheek. As he was rolling, he attempted for a clean slice at the man's legs; the man flipped into the air, and as he ascended, made an endeavor to kick Vicious' jaw. With an agile reaction, the edge of the blade met the man's foot. He fell to the ground, but flipped back to his feet. He seemed to be fighting with jeet-kun-do; his fighting stance was impeccable.  
  
"This could be fun."  
  
At top speed, Vicious dashed through the long embracement of darkness. A swift sucker punch sent him spiraling to the side, but he regained composure as he spat blood to the floor. Another leg flew by his head, and he stepped to the side quickly and brought the blade along the man's kneecap. Another chuckle escaped the man, who kicked the blood from his leg. He seemed irked at all of this, and hastened himself to Vicious. The man crouched down and leaped; immediately thereafter, he shot his foot up like piston in the air. Vicious felt a terrible cracking pain as he sprawled out on the ground.  
  
"I will end this now.. Come to me, you wretch!" The zealous Vicious shouted.  
  
He was up again, and as the man leapt to aim a finishing kick to his neck, Vicious grabbed his foot, twisted, and as this happened, the blade meet his kneecap again. Before the man could even fall, blood poured from his leg, and Vicious sent a kick to his groin. A flight of five or so feet through the darkness sent the man into the wall. As Vicious approached, he slid the katana along the man's unconscious body.  
  
*Truly, he has lost too much blood to carry on.* Whilst searching the body, he moved around the man's robes gently, and noticed he was notably tall and skinny. Under the hood, he saw strands of deep green hair.  
  
"The worthless ant is void of any possessions.." His blade was complacently sheathed after he uttered those silent words; blood dripped and splattered to the floor from his sheath. He continued along through the room, but his short-lived journey through the ship came to an abrupt end as hundreds of blinding lights sent beams of ivory smashing down into his gray eyes. He fell to the floor, and beneath him was an astronomical carving of a red dragon surrounded by flames; it was painted with heavy detail.  
  
From a ledge above stood many men clad in black suits. A broad and intimidating figure walked forth onto the ledge, and in the silence of the enormous room, only his foot steps were heard. His gi was covered in flames, and the face of a dragon was present upon his heart.  
  
"I see you've met our Syndicate..Vicious." The figure said softly. 


	3. Salt of the Earth

See You Space Cowboy..  
  
I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. I also do NOT intend to make money doing this! Thanks. ^_^ I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. Thanks. ^_^ Note: * denotes thoughts of Vicious, and ~ denotes voices in his head.  
  
  
  
Chapter III: Salt Of The Earth  
  
*Cross..cross. Killed with a cross in her body..all holiness is gone.* The increasing pain of the searing beams of solid light came over him. He was overtaken. All hope had now fleeted, and his assailants were slowly gripping his thin neck tightly, depleting all sources of vitality. With a dazed and exasperated disposition, his pupils shook in their in irises as he struggled to make out the ever waning surroundings.   
  
A haunting display came before him and engulfed his sense of sight. The dragon was below him once more. He thought of it as an omen; an extremely ominous one at that. In a wave of frustration mingled with horror he swung his palm back and gazed as a florid, crimson liquid pooled beneath him. *A river of blood..* Indeed it was his own blood. It formed easily and almost hungrily to the crevices of the archaic carvings. Though he had truly become a murderer, he had yet to realize its treacheries; especially the ones that would be inflicted upon himself in the process.  
  
"It is said, Vicious," the well toned figure called heartily, "That when the blood of a beast touches the Ryu, a new age for the Syndicate will begin. Let us hope that it is a good one."  
  
From beneath the muscular figure, the balcony suddenly erupted in smoke. In turn, a large fragment of it lowered itself along a deep crevice in the metallic wall. Even with the slightest provocation of air movement, the gi would always billow. The flames seemed to be real as they boasted the intensity of a somewhat harsh master. Upon the man's deep tanned face, a grin spread about. At last, the transportation unit met the floor. At once, Vicious rose, staining his hand in the blood from his katana. With a blinding flare of light, Vicious dove forth once and came off at a top-speed dash. The fight had verily begun as the blade razed through the close air.  
  
As this happened, the man's arm lashed forth and a shining pistol was gripped between his fingers. With two sharp clicks, the man fell to his back and smirked as Vicious flew over head. For a fleeting moment, Vicious' piercing gaze caught a glance at the sparkles coming to him. ~Always fleeing into your own fucked up world, Deimos.~ This time he could not think. The greatest pain he could imagine had reared its fierce head back and impaled itself through his abdomen. Ever grinning, ever loathsome, the man's eyes followed Vicious as he eventually was brought down into the transportation unit.  
  
  
  
"I am known as Maozezung," he said as his voice was coated with satisfaction. The pistol had taken its leave as soon as it had arrived, and Maozezung slowly approached Vicious' seemingly passed on heap of life known as his body.   
  
All he could do was stare forward as the slow fatigue of blood loss laid itself upon him. His blood had closed itself about Maozezung's feet like syrup, and above himself, he heard a deep laugh. And with that laugh came the view of many bloody, floating crosses. Upon those crosses were ravens. Endless ravens with those sickly eyes. Then, he saw himself. He was chained upon one of them. Surrounded and taken by force to the hands of the enemy. Droplets of blood rushed by and were accompanied by insane laughs. The glass shattering call of a mutilated and abused woman came from the darkness, and he found himself ever wondering if this all would end.  
  
"You are in the Syndicate. I suggest you patch yourself up. It will not be easy, let me assure you. Foes of an endless caliber of power will await you. And I will never guide you."  
  
His body was floating. And then.. It crashed down into a pair of hulking arms.   
  
"Maozezung, sir. The ship has landed. We have reached the disastrous 'Earth.' You always speak so much of it, but I will not see it. Please lead your friends on!" A hurried voice called out from the depths of Vicious' mind. It snapped him up, and once again, the world was twisting; tampering with his fragile mind. They will never cease to abuse my mentality, will they? He thought to himself.  
  
Unable to grasp the current circumstances of the environment, his face turned into a whole-heartedly shocked expression as his bare feet met the terrible soil of Earth. But he had company. He felt his shoulders being ripped softly. The ravens were there. Other than the accompany of beasts, he noticed Maozezung's shadowed body before him. Long, black strands of tussled hair were blowing about carelessly in the dank wind. And very soon it came to pass that Maozezung was not the largest thing there; a monstrous, faded church of old was imbedded into the dilapidated sands. As he scanned the archaic work of years past, he noticed the struggling attempt to cling to life by the surrounding vegetation, which was also faded and aged. The sky remained a tint of deep blueish-purple, and more winds made the whole ordeal uncomfortable. And in the chief tower of the church, he saw a breathtaking stain-glass window which was decorated with details beyond count.  
  
He was shuffled along the barren soil until his cold feet met an ice-cold, tiled floor. Sharp pains shot through his body as he entered, and the ravens jeered as bursts of holiness attempted to grab them. Atop statues they perched themselves, and they called out softly as their master was lead down an aisle tightly held together by similar statues on either side.   
  
Odd rays of light were pouring in through each window that flashed aside his face. Head down, Vicious did not question what incentive Maozezung had.  
  
Pillar upon cracked and smashed pillar rose up all about them and ended in marvelous twists and intriguing designs. Like a tormented school child, Vicious stared up at the art. Angels that seemed to be somewhat dismembered had been carved into the pillars, and they held up a long platform that spread from wall to wall across the cavernous halls.  
  
Soon, the floor's temperature had gone beyond freezing as Vicious was thrown upon a towering set of stairs. About them were many figures of insidiousness that were tyrannical to Vicious, who gripped the stairs for dear life. As he looked down, a pedestal with a torn Bible was erected from the stairs. Behind his flowing, gray hair were flames lit anew that heated his bare back to a reasonable temperature.  
  
Out of the shadows, Maozezung appeared with three, dwarf-like men, whose faces were wrinkled with knowledge. Simultaneously, they walked forth, each holding a golden cross on high, and their chants became present to Vicious. He desperately fingered for his katana; for any support; but naught was there.  
  
He was surrounded by the three men, who were lost in their sayings. A swift blow from behind sent Vicious to his stomach, and he laid before the rippling flames. *So, this is the end.. And it is to be a holy one.. How ironic..*  
  
Then silence screamed. The crosses clanged down deathly close to his face. Cold fingers forcefully held his arms above the crosses, and a blade parted his skin, allowing his blood to pour upon them.  
  
The shadows had taken him. He had been defeated. As the flames faded; as everything flowed into ripples of madness, he could only chuckle silently at his own foolishness. 


	4. Rhythm of the Rain

See You Space Cowboy..  
  
I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. I also do NOT intend to make money doing this! Thanks. ^_^ I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. Thanks. ^_^ Note: * denotes thoughts, and ~ denotes voices in someone's head.  
  
  
  
Chapter IV: Rhythm of the Rain  
  
Fiery eyes glinted in the gloaming of the glass walls. Flecks of painful scarlet were wrapped about in the cold breeze of air from above. In solitude, the lanky figure of a man resided. Forest green strands of careless hair flapped slowly; the eyes changed their focus to a long bed of roses that were specked with the twilight's sweet dew. With the fire of powerful rubies, the red eyes caught in them the sight of many flourishing trees that were entwined with the enamoring touch of an avid florist.  
  
Silence had long settled. Melancholy was the air of the green house, and the man clashed with the thriving surroundings; all of him except his hair. Not oft did the man feel such emotion, and to contest it, he smirked broadly as his eyes shut.  
  
"Spike, you've been standing in that same spot for at least forty-five minutes," a woman in her prime called from the only source of light, which was far-off into the shadows. Spike wheeled around quickly with pursed lips. Anyone who saw his lips pursed would know that he was about to smoke.  
  
With the sigh and chuckle of a smart aleck, the board-like structure came walking towards the short woman at an indifferent speed. Smoke came from his lips; as this happened, the glass became pelted with clear shards of freezing rain. From the opened heights of the greenhouse, the rain tried endlessly to get through, and some droplets did. Each drop that plastered itself to Spike's thin face made him grimace.  
  
The woman smiled wryly as her long hair billowed slightly in the rain's corresponding wind. Her round face was kept at ease as Spike came into clear view, gripping his sides. Eyes closed, he sat upon a chair in the only non-thriving part of the whole area. He was trying not to grin himself as he idly tossed a pack of glistening cigarettes up and down to at least give a response of his care to the woman.  
  
Utter silence had rested over them, save the relaxing patter of rain, which acted as their words. With her black pupils that seemed like ice, she did not cease her eyes' embracement of the figure. His off-blue suit was thoroughly drenched, and still dripping; with all due thanks to the rain, a pistol sparkled briefly from his pocket. Breaking the silence, he spat the lit-cigarette from his lips and flicked it in mid-air. With one crimson eye open, he laughed aloud as the burning paper was doused in the shadows.  
  
"Come on, Spike. I've told you to quit smoking." With one corpulent hand upon an orange-tinted, fine-glassed bottle of rum, her grin faded. The other hand held a shot-glass close to her breast; the liquid flowed into the cup. Both eyes closed, she downed the liquid. A bead of sweat dripped from her nose as she tried to accept the harsh alcohol.  
  
With a sly grin, Spike's natural visage had been painted definitely upon his face.  
  
"And I've told YOU to quit drinking that stuff so fast."  
  
  
  
Lightning crashed through the midnight-blue sky, searing whatever air it traversed; it lit all of the greenery, and Spike's eyes flamed greatly in the flash.  
  
"Anastasia."   
  
"Spike! Oh.. How many times do I have to tell you NOT to call me that?" With that, she despondently finished the bottle herself, using only her large lips.  
  
With another glare of lightning, Spike had already risen from his seat. There's that odd silence again.. He thought. As his feet met his previous spot in the greenhouse, he felt at home; he also felt that he had left imprints upon the cement.  
  
A thick mist tied itself about his ankles, and he kneeled slowly, observing the world of roses as he did so. With his hair plastered upon his face, he slid his fingers into the mist. Seconds later, he pulled out a glistening rose. Upon his face was a triumphant smile. His other long hand dug into his pocket; out he pulled a vial that glowed with crimson. At the sight of this, the woman gasped silently.  
  
"Don't worry, Annie. I'd never take this stuff."  
  
He flipped the vial quickly in his soaked fingers and caught it in a firm grip. With a short click, the vial shot out red mist that blanketed the rose. It seemed to wither, but it flashed gold briefly and remained the color. Spike pocketed the golden rose and forced his foot over the vial, crushing it utterly. Crimson dripped from its shards.   
  
"But it's so expensive, Spike.. And you're wasting it! At least sell it!"  
  
As usual, Spike cocked his head back indifferently and yawned, taking the freezing rain into his mouth. He frowned and passed Annie slowly, who rose from her seat with trouble.   
  
"Have..have you seen.. Mao?" Annie said hoarsely, in a race with her senses, and her breath.  
  
Spike was ever silent, until he laughed silently, his hair shimmering in the rain.  
  
"Mao.. Yenrai? Heh. I saw him last week. He's working himself too much."  
  
  
  
As Spike's fingers slid along the deathly cold glass of the exit, Annie said silently, "She must be a special girl."  
  
With wide eyes, Spike turned slowly; he looked as if a specter had possessed him. Hands across his thin chest, he laughed facetiously.   
  
Remorseful over the rude chuckle, Spike quickly brought himself outside of the greenhouse. He was now enclosed by towering, though aged buildings. The rain had brought about many puddles, all of which caused Spike to view his waterlogged body. In those murky puddles, he saw clearly the rose in his pocket. It haunted him and his mind as he carried on down the sidewalk silently.  
  
Many streetlights flared up at his passing, and at last he came to a highway. His beaten feet could find no rest upon the uneven sidewalk, and he sighed carelessly at this whole ordeal. She never even saw the bandage on my leg. Those words flowed through his mind.  
  
He knew he had to figure out who sent that freezing steel along his body.. Because of the wound, he had a slightly noticeable limp, and crimson droplets fell from it at times. But the room of combat and judgment, also known as the Trianko, was thoroughly caught in darkness, and his assailant could not be made out.  
  
His feet plunged deep into the deathly cold puddles that formed about his legs. Vehicles shot past like bullets, and they only soaked him further. The water had nigh made him wonder if life could ever be dry again. The quilt-like, purple sky seemed to slice itself open with lightning. Seeking a bit of relaxation, Spike drew the golden rose from his pocket. Rain merely ran down it, so it was not wet at all.  
  
As he met the curb of the highway, he stepped from the ankle-high waters. It was in this moment that all life seemed to empty from his body, and he nearly let loose the rose. His eyes followed a vision of heaven; a woman with a bowed head, whose blond hair ran for ages. She was clad in a skin tight and shining leather suit, and she paid no heed to anything.  
  
For aught Spike knew, she was but a divine figment of his imagination which would soon seep into the depths of forgetfulness. From inside, he heard cries.. Cries telling him to meet the woman. But it seemed as though broad arms held him back. In the flurry of feelings, he pricked his forefinger upon the rose, and crimson beads dropped from him, mingling with the rain.  
  
Before long, the woman had passed into a beat-down building. So, she was real. He thought. In the top window, a dull light flicked on. He saw many shadows pass by, until the lights were cut off.  
  
As he gazed like a child to an abnormally large lolly-pop, rain was stabbing his face and eyes with pain. In the shadows, many blood-red eyes shot open simultaneously, and the treacherous jeer of ravens echoed over the rain.   
  
He had to carry on. This section of Mars was renowned for its bad living areas. It was obsolete when compared to the other colonized areas of Mars; and with a shrug, Spike shut his sharp eyes and walked on down his shadowed path.  
  
His senses raged from within him as a deep explosion rumbled ahead. He heard calls, and he stopped in his tracks. The pistol was tightly gripped in his hand and was drawn at once. In the long blanket of showering rain, he perceived a red beast, or so it seemed; it was charging at killing speed. He flipped in mid-air and flew off to the side, firing thrice at the "beast." Naught happened, and it twisted about violently, sending its enormous weight into a building. The building acted as butter and was scraped through easily. Bricks and the like shot by Spike's confused face, and dust had flown by alongside the rain.  
  
  
  
  
  
Rising from the puddles slowly, Spike walked towards the building, fueled only by his undying curiosity for strange phenomenons, which would often get him injured. As he walked into the now cavernous and destroyed area, he saw two kids shoot by him, laughing devilishly. He gave not a thought to the children and brought himself face-to-face with the red construction.  
  
That child-like grin was present upon his face once more as the shelter from the rain comforted a bit. He slid his thumbs along the dented surface of the slender fighting ship, and a whistle came from his mouth. He seemed truly impressed.  
  
"Whew! Amazing! This is a sight. The Swordfish II. They say Doohan himself built this baby.."  
  
His love for fighting ships was astronomical. He leaned himself upon one of the shattered wings, sighed complacently, pushed a cigarette to his lips, and it flicked as a flame kindled it.  
  
"Maybe you can take the place of that celestial being.." 


	5. Mer Des Bleus

Chapter V: Mer Des Bleus  
  
Blah blah. Don't own anything. * denotes thoughts and ~ denotes voices in someone's head. Thanks for the reviews, everyone!  
  
  
  
A gnarled and twisted form of life lay sprawled about on the chilling, cemented seaside border of the dreary Ganymede. Such acrid weather was never beheld nor wished for upon the peaceful fishing metropolis; and with the harsh slam and slap of the agonizing sheets of pale white, the sea groaned and molded aimlessly with its force.  
  
Near skeletal fingers shakily gripped the erected ledge before the shore. Whilst staggering and slamming down sporadically, an inauspicious and sputtering figure brought itself up to lay upon the edge of land. Solid gray skies held the unfavorable air about him as his pupils darted about hastily, as if in immeasurable pain. The icy blankets had caused his already wolf-gray hair to become even more eerie and conspicuously long.  
  
  
  
*I have been branded.. Branded as a servant; a religious omen to these mongrels..* As the rain lingered and trilled about his fingers, he spread his lips in a foremost attempt to lose all threads of sanity that laced his self control. Vicious he was, and he was utterly raped of all dignity. Deep and everlasting scars of his so called absolution stung his very senses from upon his thin arms. Upon his pale and sharp back were branded the imprints of two deterring crucifixes, which would take no leave from his body.  
  
He had risen once more from the pools of indignity and drew his scarlet tainted katana. He extended it away from his vision and into the gray waters The unruly waves formed about it gladly, and he set off, lifeless and barefooted down the icily chilled walkway. Ere he was done, smiles of petty sanity flew past his expression from time to time.   
  
As if letting off a large burden, scarlet ripples billowed from the blade. The rain calmed drastically with this, thought it was still present. From within his defeated mind, Vicious heard naught but the splashing of his abused feet. From within their repugnant sockets, his deep gray pupils shook. *So often am I faced with dire situations. May this truly be the end.* This thought seemed to be on a marquee as he stared lifelessly into the sky, which was crackling with silent bolts of lightning. From the edge of his sight leapt a deep crimson monstrosity that charged at a bull's pace. He was ready. He quickly slashed the blade from the water, and its droplets shimmered as they passed his clammy visage.   
  
In a desperate defensive position he stood, and thoughts of his past attempted to slay him then and there..  
  
~Even defense is flawed.. You'll die, just like her..maybe at my hands, perhaps.. Or the hands of a friend you once cherished..but aren't they so rare with you?~  
  
Solid eyes stared forth in the stretching darkness of a haunted room. Fingers without strength slid to the keys of a piano without thought. Tormented shivers pulsed through his body as he began to play a hymn of devilry slowly. Drops of scarlet came from the crevices of the keys and embraced his fingers as he went on. Bloody eyes shone straight above his shoulder as his pupils wandered to the dead world behind him; he saw all that once was precious and powerful; all influences of hope had diminished. His abode was now stained with the blood of many.  
  
The memory shattered before him as the red ship slashed violently at his neck as it darted past. Instincts of a murderer sent him into a somersault in which he flipped his blade vertically; the ship met the end of its potential last flight as it slammed down into a traffic light, sparking from the deep and urgent gash. Smoke erupted from the cockpit as the glass covering upon it shattered; from the long embracement of smoke flipped an agile figure who was as fast as he was tall. With his eyes' sight stuck on the river-like cement, he stood to full height, and with a sigh, drew a pack of damaged cigarettes slowly.   
  
Specks of tobacco flew past his nose as his attention shot upward; his cigarettes were cut asunder as the loathsome figure of a demon stood before him, or he thought it was; a well-crafted blade was extended and touched the tip of his nose; at this, Spike smirked indignantly. The quality and skill of a cowboy became present as he twirled a pistol between his bruised fingers, and its thin barrel pressed against Vicious' neck.  
  
Vicious's left eye was blanketed by his flowing hair, and the only movement between the two contenders was the swift and increasingly powerful rain. The situation all seemed too ironic and humorously idiotic that he could not help but smirk himself.  
  
Vicious's eyes traversed and scanned the figure thoroughly; his vision set upon his bandaged and blood-stained knee. With that he took two frightened steps backward, lowering his katana gradually as he stared intensely into the red eyes of Spike, whose face faulted slightly.  
  
"Hm. You stick that sword in my face, and then you back off? Talk about rude greetings," Spike uttered softly as he pocketed the glistening pistol. Shocked feelings mingled with exasperation flowed over Vicious like a wave as he attempted to speak.  
  
"Do you have any idea what you look like right now?" Spike said rudely as he hopelessly searched for more cigarettes.   
  
"..what?"  
  
"A ravenous beast who wanders in search of blood, endlessly. Weird, eh? That just kind of floated through my mind. Heh."  
  
"Do not attempt to pettily see into the windows of my tormented past, wretch."  
  
As that was said, Spike's cool expression became troubled. Vicious knelt down slowly, as if cowering, and locked stares with the perturbed Spike.   
  
  
  
Breaking the long silence, Spike yawned as he shifted his vision lazily. His shining red eyes followed a sleek truck that was shooting through the rain; upon its bed was a large pile of odds and ends that were covered in a light blue tarp. His eyes widened as a menacing double-barrel shotgun erected itself from the window; Spike leapt forward and rolled along the ground as a flurry of shells passed his face and embedded themselves into the ground before Vicious, who remained silent.  
  
  
  
Hoping his aim would be true, Spike let fly two bullets. Their shells clinked to the ground and Spike shot off again; going straight for the truck, he sent himself about four feet into the air, dodging handgun blasts. A single shot from his own barrel brought the truck to an end, and the driver's head jerked and convulsed, until at last it slammed into the steering wheel; the truck lurched frantically and burst into flames as it collided with a building. The tarp flew into the wind, and up shot hundreds of red vials that glowed ominously as they ascended.   
  
Naught was said as the vials came down with the rain; they all shattered simultaneously upon the blacktop of a parking lot, spreading their scarlet fluids everywhere. From them arose a foul scent that wavered in the surrounding radius. Spike, who was now frantic, pressed his hand to his face and covered his eyes and nose as he hid himself within the rubble of the building.  
  
Vicious was caught unawares as the scents gripped him; all forms of restraint on his own actions fleeted. His eyes became blood shot. The world before him shook crazily and became smothered in redness, and all that he aught see was slowed down. His sense overflowed with power as he gripped the katana close.  
  
"Oh great, cronies," Spike said with annoyance on his tongue. From the dust and debris shot many men clad in black. Upon all of their suits was painted a crude sai that dripped blood. All of them drew like weapons; sais. Their sunglasses glinted, yet clashed with the surroundings. All of them saw Vicious as the perpetrator, and thusly they engaged him as more filed from the rubble.  
  
Blades cut close to his cheek as assailants closed in tightly; his head made corresponding movements and hasty dashes, his hair leaping from his forehead slightly as he did this. Black was now mingling with the everlasting red he had to behold, and he seemed to see all; about thirty, burly men had challenged him. They all seemed shocked as they saw bouts of insanity rise from Vicious, who shot into the rain ridden skies like an acrobat.  
  
As he descended, he sliced down at an extended sai, knocking it aside and smashing his heel into the man's chin. A fist flew by his cheek, and he dropped aside, impaling the foe through the abdomen as he did so. A tight form grasped his back, but he twisted violently and gyrated with the extended katana. The man slammed down into a puddle, staining it with scarlet as he was nearly dismembered. The battle hungry katana met an airborne kunai, sending it astray; with ninja-like speed, he took off at a dire run through the ranks of men. Another kunai darted past, and with a skillful dodge, it met the neck of an enemy behind him. Soon, he came face to face with the kunai thrower, and with one liquid movement, his foot made the man breathless, and the katana finished him with a slice to the jugular.  
  
Vicious flipped upon his hands and feet and went airborne again, kicking and breaking the arm of a fist that nearly shattered his jaw. He landed upon one heel and twisted like a hurricane in the bloody rain, amputating one and decapitating another. Scarlet rained about him, and he smiled with madness as blood dripped to his face.   
  
Yet another sai sliced beside his ear, and he jumped forth, grabbing the arm of his assailant. With the arm gripped in his cold embracement, he drove his katana through the man's chest and swiftly withdrew it, thereafter sending the man's head askew. Desperate and anger ridden arms attempted to throttle him from the mist in front of him, but he found himself leaning upon the blade's hilt and smashing his feet instantly into the man's neck; when he fell, Vicious twisted in mid-air and brought his blade down behind him, cutting a deep gash into his foe's chest.  
  
And so there he stood, looking triumphantly insane. He laughed as he placed his bloody heel upon the corpse of a boisterous foe. All pure water about his feet was now completely painted with scarlet as he looked up at the clouds, slowly tracing his bloody fingers over his face.  
  
An utterly frightened Spike slowly stepped forth from the shadows, fretfully dodging corpses. The remaining men ran down the only pure path as quickly as they could. Vicious made a truly fierce attempt to immediately give chase, but Spike's hands caught Vicious's arms. His now cold, red eyes peered into Vicious's soul.  
  
Putting an end to the drama, Spike merely grinned, chuckled, and released.  
  
"Either save that energy or use it on me," he said pompously, holding out the golden rose. The clouds parted gradually, and soft beams of light emitted from the crevices of the clouds. Vicious stared with red eyes at the rose, but ever and anon felt comfort as a soft breeze passed briskly. 


End file.
